


gimme your hands cause you're wonderful

by rowankhanna



Series: we can be heroes [4]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Fluff, Fred being a mischievous shit, Getting really drunk, Kissing, M/M, Not the greatest of proms, Prom, Queenie being fashionable, Some angst from Graves, fight, no magic, there's also a tiny handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-11 17:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10469892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowankhanna/pseuds/rowankhanna
Summary: Credence is terrified about prom, terrified about dancing, terrified about becoming Prom King, and just in general terrified - but Newt's with him, so he's brave.Though prom doesn't go quite as they expect.





	1. head over heels

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long! Curse exams! But here is the next part in my currently neverending series. I'm glad it's finally here.

Credence has never thought about prom before. The fussing of people over him comes as a surprise: Newt and Queenie muse over what he should wear and, with Mrs MacBride (“it’s Kirsty,” she insists, but Newt can never get it right), they go shopping for him, and he feels self-conscious when they size him up in different suits and waistcoats and blazers and trousers, but he can tell that they’re passionate about making him look good, so he doesn’t say anything, and when they walk from store to store, Newt squeezes his hand and smiles at him, so he doesn’t feel so bad, and the fabrics feel nice against his skin, too, so he finds himself unable to mind.

The suit comes together a week before the prom and Queenie brings it to Credence’s, where Newt is also parked out to try on his own (he had done his best to tell Queenie that he could just wear his Bowie suit again, having developed an immense fondness for it, but she had pinned him with a glare and firmly told him that he needs to wear something that says Newt, not Bowie), and he’s borrowed Credence’s tiny speakers to test out his prom playlist (his rights to pick the music were hard-earned and required him writing multiple essays for other members of the student council). She comes bundling in to _Skinny Genes_ , holding two bags and beaming at them.

Newt’s suit is simple: a white shirt with a brown waistcoat and tweed blazer, with flecked black trousers and a striped purple bow tie. The dark green-brown of the blazer suits his hair, which is beginning to overgrow, his fringe beyond his eyes and the clipped hair by his ears beginning to grow out into fluffy sides, and the colour scheme suits his freckles. Credence’s breath catches when he sees Newt, who looks somehow as relaxed as usual, a hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers.

“Well?” he asks. “What do you think?”

Credence can’t form words, lost in Newt’s pale blue eyes, but Queenie speaks for him: “As long as you’ll be wearing shoes on the day,” she says with a smile to his dark grey socks.

“I have suede Doc Martens, courtesy of Theseus for my last birthday. Green.” He looks up at Credence, who is too shy to look back up. “How about you, Credence? I’m eager to see this suit all put together.” Credence nods and shuffles away into the bathroom, running the silky fabrics through his hands before he puts them on, feeling particularly unworthy of such refined taste. He feels a tightness in his chest as he realises that his trousers come with no belt because Queenie has tailored them for him so that he doesn’t need one, and takes a moment to steady himself before shrugging on his blazer.

He looks at himself in the mirror. He remembers to breathe. He pushes down the door handle and steps out of the bathroom before taking a straight left into his bedroom, where Newt has sat down on the chair by his desk and Queenie is leaning against the wall by the light switch. Both of them stop mid-conversation to watch him. Newt’s jaw drops a little.

“Credence,” he says. “You look...” Godlike. Incredible. But also like Credence, like soft eyes and with that vulnerability, with a look a little like a rabbit in headlights, his hair growing out and curling at his temples, black and contrasting with his pale skin. Credence smiles, wondering how he could bring such surprise to Newt, wearing the same look of awe that he felt when he saw Newt, all tweed and browns and earth.

For Credence, Newt and Queenie settled on a white shirt, a plain black waistcoat, and a black floral blazer, with flowers in strong and vibrant pinks and paler yellows. His trousers match his blazer and he’s wearing patent black Oxfords. He feels a little strange – it’s an outfit more suited to a model than him – but Newt surges up to kiss him (only on the forehead) when he can manage to move again, so he must look good to someone, even if that someone is Newt, who would find Credence beautiful in a bin bag.

“You look so good, sugar!” Queenie squeals, straightening out Credence’s black tie, tucked into his waistcoat. “You two are going to make a lot of couples jealous.” She sighs wistfully. “I wish I could come.” Queenie is in the year below and the prom is year-specific, so whilst she has coordinated many an outfit for friends, she doesn’t get to see them in action, so she beams at the two of them, subtly holding hands. She knows they’re going to have a good time – she can see it in their eyes, in the way they look at each other but also can’t look, fighting their own mouths to not grin.

“Well, I’m glad you could help us,” Newt says. “Thank you, Queenie. I’ve never looked better.”

“You two,” she says, “are going to rock.” And at this, she pats both of them on the back. “Go slay.”

Prom rolls around before Credence has even realised it. The posters dotted all round the school have been there for weeks, blending into the walls rather than being any kind of reminder, and he’s only reminded when he’s eating one of Mrs MacBride’s melted cheese toasties (which would admittedly be better if they were warm, like when she serves them to him for lunch on weekends) for lunch by the oak tree and Newt brings it up to mention that he’s agreed to Percy’s offer of getting ready together.

“Oh,” says Credence.

“I’ll come and pick you up,” Newt adds quickly. “Well, _we_ will. We’ll come and pick you up and we can all walk to school together.” He leans in. “Queenie has expressed some interest in hosting you and helping you get ready. She did my hair for the school dance way back when I was Bowie; she’s great, I promise. You should take her up on it.”

So Credence does, and spends his evening with the Goldstein sisters. Their house is warm and homely, and he feels welcome right away (this is unusual: Credence can’t help but feel like he doesn’t belong anywhere) as Queenie fusses over him, ruffling at his hair with product after product and spraying it down once it’s messy, but after he’s dressed, and she manages somehow to convince him to let her put a little bit of makeup on him. Well, she says a little, but he ends up with greasy smokey eyes, but when he sees himself in the mirror he can’t even find the heart to complain, because Queenie has an eye for bringing out the best in people: her suit brought out everything beautiful in Newt’s features, and Credence doesn’t look so shy with eyeshadow and messy hair and floral suits. He almost looks confident.

Credence watches Queenie help Tina get ready, curling Tina’s bobbed hair. “Queenie,” he mumbles. “Is it normal to be this scared before prom?”

“Yes,” Tina answers for him. “It’s really hyped up. So everybody gets really nervous. Just try and have fun and dance along. I mean, you might look stupid, but you’re never going to look as stupid as Newt and Percy did at the last school dance we all went to.”

“They didn’t look stupid,” Credence says, bewildered. “They looked amazing.”

“You and Newt dating suddenly makes so much more sense,” Tina laughs. “The two of you feel the same about things. It’s like there’s this world that we’re in, and then there’s another one that’s completely different and that’s where you and Newt live.” She moves her head as Queenie curls round the back of her hair. “He’s like a puzzle.”

“Both of you have grown so much,” Queenie says proudly. “You’ve come so far, from such horrible places.”

 _Horrible places..._ Credence looks at them, and he plays with his fingers and with his thoughts, wondering if he really wants to know, wondering if knowing will hurt him. But he asks anyway, a question that’s been on his mind ever since that day tucked in Newt’s kitchen, listening to his stories about his turbulent past. “Um, Tina, Queenie. Can you tell me more about what happened to Newt when he wasn’t well?”

They both go a little still, but Queenie nods and says “sure”; she always knew that someone would have to tell him eventually, and figured that that someone might not be Newt. Credence tells her what he already knows: that Newt had a particularly unexpected breakdown and was unwell and took time off from school for a few weeks. She smiles sadly. “Did he tell you that story? He always pretends he was better than he was. Percy is better to ask, because he was around more often; Newt didn’t really speak to either of us all that often. We knew each other, and sat together sometimes, but it was all with Percy and Abernathy.”

“I think the dance really helped him get back on his feet,” she continues after a long pause. “But people always have secrets, and so does he. Do you know how much Percy knows about the punk movement? He’s not just a pretty face in tartan pants, I can tell you that. He could write a book on it, I bet.”

Tina pats Credence’s arm. “Don’t worry about his past. He doesn’t worry about it. He just looks forward to the future, and so should you. And have fun! Prom is meant to be fun. Not sad. You’re celebrating your time with Newt.”

Newt and Percy arrive a little early so that Queenie can fuss at their hair and straighten Newt’s blazer and plump his bow tie, and she swipes some brown eyeshadow on his eyes and fills his eyebrows in a little bit, and she almost snatches Percy away in her fervour to get him ready. He had been considering dressing in a tux, like a normal person, but is instead wearing a full punk burgundy tartan bondage suit, with straps of fabric lazily pinned across his chest and legs. His septum piercing, which had been a secret as he kept it permanently flipped up, is out on display with a safety pin pushed through it (though he’ll never admit it, he’d misfired a few times and pricked at the inside of his nose, much to the aggravation of his streaming eyes). Queenie claps her hands together when she sees him, squealing about how good he looks, his hair (cropped at the sides and usually just swept back) spiked up into his most impressive Mohawk.

Credence leans in to Newt, taking his elbow. “Why is he dressed like that? I thought he was dressing differently now. A little more mature.”

“It’s a political statement,” Newt replies softly, cupping Credence’s cheek and marvelling at his makeup. “Punk was a reaction to the political climate of the day – a generation of disillusioned young people. And here we are again. Or that’s what he said to me. He’s always been very opinionated. He believes in political statements and Vivienne Westwood.” He places a kiss to the side of Credence’s mouth. “You look great.”

“So do you.” Credence squeezes Newt’s elbow flusher to his. “You look... like you. If that makes sense at all.”

“Perfect sense.” They watch Queenie fuss over Percy like a mother bird before he finally insists that they really should get going, since Newt is the man with the music and without the music, there will be no prom (he knows there could be because someone will be able to plug their phone in somewhere, but the idea of a prom without Newt’s eloquent soundtrack repulses him) and they head out into the streets: Tina, Credence, Newt, and Percy, a strange quartet of made-up faces and elegant tailoring that even Percy has to compliment.

“So, Credence,” Percy says, cracking his knuckles. “On a scale of one to ten, how ready are you to see how ridiculous Newt’s dancing is?”

“You _absolutely_ enjoyed it,” Newt retorts. “The school will never be graced by a moment as _immense_ as you and I and Bonnie Tyler.” The hand that isn’t wound in Credence’s is tucked into the pocket of his trousers and something about his walk seems lighter – not that it was ever not light and free and bouncing, slightly offbeat, but he’s almost skipping now. “I think I may have more sanity tonight than I did then. So I might be a little less embarrassing.”

“Bastard,” Percy grunts, shaking his head. “Sticking me with the shitty dancing.”

They arrive at school fairly quickly, even though they’re slowed by Tina’s inexperience in her clacking heels, and Newt disappears away to plug his phone into the sound system. They’re early on account of prom needing music to start, and spend half an hour sitting in the cafeteria sipping at diluting juice as other students file in, all dressed to the nines and wearing enough makeup to bake a cake with. Percy leans in to Tina. “How many of them do you reckon are drunk?”

“Too many,” she says, watching couples pour in hand in hand and feeling the absence at her side, even though she and Percy have made a sensible agreement to dance with each other if they have to. Credence and Newt sit beside her, weighing up which flavour of juice is better (Newt thinks orange, Credence thinks blackcurrant), and one of the queens of the student council wanders into the cafeteria and ushers Newt away to start the music (he smiles apologetically at Credence) and another girl invites everyone else into the gym hall, which has been decorated with banners and disco balls and this and that.

Credence gravitates instantly towards the seats dotted around the walls and sits down on one, waiting for Newt, who has started his playlist with a song Credence recognises: _Head Over Heels_ (he rather likes it, even though he doesn’t always see eye to eye with Newt’s music taste). He feels strange, not entirely sure what he should be doing, and Tina comes over to him to shed her heels. “These are awful,” she says, displeased. “How can people wear these things?”

“Practice,” Credence offers, and Tina just clicks her tongue at this. She can’t imagine practicing wearing shoes that squish her toes and make her feel like she might fall over at any moment. She longs for her black Chucks; she feels sometimes like she could run a marathon in them.

“I watched Newt’s favourite movie last night,” she says, vaguely wishing that she could borrow Percy and bum a cigarette. She’s not a fan of smoking and thinks it’s entirely wrong, but agrees that there are occasions on which the only answer is to hang out a window and smoke, and this is one of them. “It was so weird. I couldn’t even finish it.”

Credence knows vaguely that Newt enjoys movies from the posters scattered around his room and the movies that he’s shown Credence, but it occurs to him that he has no idea what Newt’s favourite film is. He barely even knows Newt’s movie taste, lost in the rows and rows of DVDs held inside his cupboards. Credence thinks of Newt as the kind of guy who can’t pick favourites. “What is it?”

“Some strange indie thing called _The Lobster_ ,” and Credence has never heard of it, but stops thinking about it altogether when he sees the double doors open and Newt step through.

He knows that Newt is beautiful. He knows that he knows that Newt is beautiful, and he knows that Newt looks saintly in his suit, but somehow the simple act of watching him come through the doors and straight for Credence to the tune of _Head Over Heels_ makes his heart leap, and he stumbles as he clambers out of his chair and pulls Newt into a hug. Newt wishes he had something witty to say, but just runs his hand along the back of Credence’s hair and tries not to ruin Queenie’s handiwork while also embracing his partner, laughing at nothing in particular.

When the song ends, one of the overly made-up girls on the student council makes a short announcement that votes for prom king and queen will be taking place shortly (the disagreements over how the vote would take place had meant that, in the end, they couldn’t even hold the vote before prom; Percy had found this entirely hilarious) and that, roughly halfway through, there will be a buffet with pizza and that the results for prom king and queen will be tallied then and announced afterwards.

Percy, who is rather coyly dancing with Abernathy, leans in to his ear. “Bit homophobic, isn’t it?”

“I tried to tell them this, but they told me that it didn’t matter since the only gay couple wasn’t popular enough to win anyway,” Abernathy replies quietly. Percy pauses to think and then slams his hands down on Abernathy’s shoulders (this is not much appreciated by Abernathy, who feels like he’s having a small heart attack when this happens).

“We need to get them to win,” he says. “I’m going to go tell everyone to vote for them.”

“That’s never going to work,” Abernathy points out. “It’s a popularity contest. Newt and Credence – as nice as they are – are both outsiders.”

“If I tell them what you just told me those bitches at the council told you, they’ll vote Newt and Credence without a second thought. We can get someone to write in their names somewhere, and we’ll storm it. Trust me. This’ll work, and it’s gonna be fucking fantastic. Go get Tina and tell her what we’re up to, and get Jacob. He can bribe people. He’s definitely got food on him.”

Credence is too shy to dance with as much reckless abandon as the other teens (though this is mostly because they are drunk, and he is not, and Newt is just dancing because he is Newt and Newt does not care), and hovers around Newt, occasionally moving his arms and hoping that this will work. He doesn’t think he sees the hype until Newt grabs his hand and forces him to dance to _Suffragette City_ , which seems easy to dance to, because it mostly consists of people jumping around. When Credence goes to get Newt some punch afterwards, his forehead wet with perspiration that he wipes away (he didn’t realise that dancing was so taxing), he hears someone sing the praises of the music choice and he feels pride swell up in him, a strange sense of possessive pride: that’s Newt, that’s his significant other half with the great music taste and a penchant for mixtapes and the smile that feels like you’re being hit with the full force of the sun. That’s Newt, who caught his breath from across a room. That’s Newt, who’s his boyfriend and nobody else’s.

Newt and Credence are meant to be among the last to take the vote, but Percy neatly avoids them seeing the ballot during a ballad where they’re leaning on each other and discussing something into the back of each other’s necks. He wonders what they talk about, and then feels a little twinge because they look so happy. He remembers being that happy: when he was with Newt, sitting curled up in a coffee shop, it was impossible to be sad.

Their dishevelled group, now with the addition of Abernathy, meet back up for pizza, huddling around a deep pan margherita in the cafeteria. Credence, who feels like he has a new understanding of prom now that he’s spent at least part of it with Newt’s arms around him, sits next to Newt and tries not to make a mess, but the pizza is fresh and hot and greasy and some of it drips down his chin, which Newt affectionately wipes away with a tissue.

“Who do you think is going to win prom king and queen?” Percy asks, earning him shot looks from both Abernathy and Tina.

“Someone popular and pretty,” says Credence, earning a series of nods from around the table. He takes a glance over at Newt: he thinks that anybody on the table with them would be more worthy of a prize than anyone who will win. He wonders if the popular boys and girls on the ballot have sat on hospital floors, have stayed overnight at other peoples’ houses to make sure they’re okay, have been up at stupid hours of the night to answer the phone, have invited friends over for Christmas purely out of the kindness of their own hearts, have ever had to nurse someone through mental illness. He wonders if any of them have watched the love of their life overdose and cried in the car on the way to the hospital, cried bitter tears out the window into the New York air. He wonders if any of them have been beaten up, have had to move out, have to live day after day with perpetually absent parents, been made to feel lost in their own skin, and he thinks that they don’t deserve awards. The little trophies and the sashes and the photos and the glory don’t belong to people with fake faces and stupid lies of lives, he thinks; they belong to the people who struggle, who fight to live, who lose themselves in music and dance and drink coffee and sit under oak trees and defy convention and live true to themselves. He wishes he could convey this to the table, but he’s not sure they’d understand, so he reaches over and squeezes Newt’s hand and somehow, in the press of skin to skin, he feels like he’s conveyed his message. “A girl who looks good in a sash and a boy in a black tuxedo.”

“He could be a part of my anti-establishment club,” Percy says proudly, clapping Credence hard on the back. “Fuck the conventional. Let’s be outsiders.” He picks up his plastic cup of water. “To the outsiders. The best people in this fucking room.”

Newt doesn’t hesitate to grab his own cup, and one by one, the others follow: Credence, Tina, Abernathy. “To the outsiders,” he says, and they tap their cups together. “And to looking absolutely ridiculous because it’s better that way.”

“Amen to that,” Tina agrees, which surprises Newt a little, but Credence understands. They’re friends – they might’ve grown a little further apart with Newt in the way, but still – and they’re outsiders together and always have been, and she might’ve been sitting in the corner with him at the last school dance, but they both felt it like a wave: their energy, the emotions Newt and Percy had been channelling into each other.

Sure, they had looked ridiculous. But Tina and Credence know that looking ridiculous is just a symptom of being honest.


	2. you find a way to live what’s best for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who has a good prom anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, Newt and Credence both get absolutely sloshed in this. If you imagine this chapter with as much giggling as possible when they get drunk, that's the best way to see it. ;)

Credence feels a little looser once the pizza-eating is over, except that he is now lacking in the ability to jump around while dancing in case he’s sick. He leans in on Newt’s shoulder as they start the walk back through to the gym from the cafeteria; before they leave, Tina pats him on the shoulder and reminds him to enjoy himself, and she walks back with Percy and Abernathy. Some other boys glare at Credence, which makes him flinch a little, but Newt winds their fingers together and it makes him feel better.

“Don’t be angry about who wins,” Newt says softly. “Percy oversimplifies things. The popular kids, the ones who are part of wider social circles – they might seem flaky and superficial and with no real thoughts of their own on the outside, but everybody has their own struggles. You might not be able to see them, but all sorts of people have trouble we don’t know about. I know that we’ve been through a lot, all of us, but they might’ve been too. So don’t judge them too harshly.”

Credence nods, and feels a little guilty, but it washes away when they push through the doors and back into the gym, where Whigfield’s _Saturday Night_ (Newt’s guilty pleasure, not that he ever feels guilty about music) with the volume reduced soundtracks their re-entrance. The pretty announcer girl with too much hair and a stunningly white grin is standing on the stage platform and she comes up to the microphone, announcing with fake-giggles that the results for prom king and queen are in.

“Here we go,” mutters Percy to Credence’s right. Abernathy, standing even further right, looks at him with an unreadable expression that could be puzzlement, bewilderment, horror, anger, sadness, or any number of things. With Abernathy, nobody can ever be sure. Or perhaps it’s all of them.

The girl on stage looks bewildered as she reads the paper in her hand, but looks up with her bedazzling smile, refusing to falter on the biggest night of the social calendar. “So, the winners of our prom king and – er, king – are Newt Scamander and Credence Barebone! This is unexpected, but I’m delighted to congratulate the two. Newt has been a staple of the drama community with his work behind the set, and he recently hosted the 80s themed school dance we had last year; Credence is known for his hard and determined work in all classes and has one of the school’s highest GPAs...” Newt is surprised by her knowledge of their exploits: most people are unaware of his work in drama, considering he’s never been on stage in high school, and he doesn’t even _know_ Credence’s GPA, and he reaches over to take Credence up to collect whatever it is they get when he notices a large boy-sized hole next to him.

“Bugger,” he mutters, and grabs Percy’s hand. “It’s Credence, he’s – he’s gone.”

Percy rolls his eyes. “I’ll go send someone to get him. Get up there and talk. Where will he be?”

“The bench by the oak tree, where we sit for lunch. He’ll be there. No doubt about it. Send someone who’s nice, please; he won’t come back for just anyone.” Newt doesn’t want to speak on stage, and would rather also disappear outside, but he swallows as much of his fear as he can and mounts the stage, standing next to the girl, who beams at him. He can’t help but feel guilty as he takes the microphone, hands beginning to shake. This is his fault. He shouldn’t have wanted to go to prom so much. He should’ve stayed home, knowing how shy Credence is; they could’ve had a better day in Newt’s bedroom, watching movies together, eating popcorn. He might not have had to talk to a room full of disappointed teenagers who just want to dance, get drunk, and fuck. But this is what he’s chosen for himself, and he’s going to take it. “My apologies for Credence’s absence, he is a little shy and speaking on a stage is particularly nerve-wracking, so props to the student council for hosting the event. I would like to thank you all for your votes – I know I’m not popular by any means, so I’m very humbled, and it means a lot to both of us.”

Percy decides to send Abernathy, of all people, and he gulps, heading out into the corridors and straightening his tie as he walks, wondering how he’s going to manage to convince Credence to come back. He’s no Newt. He’s about as convincing as a twig. He doesn’t think he’s ever reassured anyone of anything in his entire life. Why him?

He finds Credence easily, because he’s not hiding. He’s sitting on the bench with his knees tucked up to his chin looking like he wants to curl up hard enough to disappear, and Abernathy sits down next to him, wishing he didn’t feel as awkward. Why did Percy send him? Why not Tina? Why not someone who can speak, someone who knows Credence, someone who can pick better words than him? He wishes he could replace himself with Remus. Remus would know what to say. Remus _always_ knows what to say.

But Remus would say that Abernathy can do this, so he steels himself and tries.

“Um, hello,” he offers. Credence says nothing.

“I watched a movie last night,” he tries again. “And it was about a friendship that changed someone’s life, and there was this really pretty scene where the characters are driving in a truck through a tunnel and one of them is standing with her arms out like _Titanic_.” He should absolutely shut up right now, he thinks. “And they’re rushing through the tunnel and she is standing up and the narrator says _we are infinite_. And they are having the time of their lives. A–and what I mean to say by this is that, um, sometimes we need to leave our comfort zones. Sometimes we need to go out there and do something new. They never would’ve had that moment where they felt infinite in that tunnel had the character not decided one day to speak to someone he’d seen in class.” He pauses and sighs. “I’m sorry, this is no good, I should go back –”

“No,” Credence says, surprisingly fiercely, lifting his head to look over at Abernathy, whose face is a portrait of surprise. “Don’t go. I get what you’re saying.” This shocks Abernathy, who wasn’t sure that he knew what he was saying at all, and he relaxes a little. “You’re in student council, right?” He nods. “Can you explain how the prom king thing works?”

Abernathy is not particularly privy to this information, being the most unpopular member of the council and having almost no say whatsoever in anything, but he’s figured it out from hearing snatches in meetings (most of which he never gets the dates for and misses, but he’s insistent and often finds his way to those he wasn’t invited to). “Well, when I researched it on the Internet, it said that other schools usually nominate prom king and queen separately and they’re usually not a couple. But here, we just took a list of all the couples in the year and everyone voted on who they thought was the best couple. It was meant to have been voted on before, but they kept arguing about it so it only got done today.”

“Does that mean that people really like us?”

“Surely they wouldn’t vote for you if they didn’t like you.” Abernathy tries to smile, but feels like it comes out all wrong, so presses his lips together and tries to hold a straight face. He wants to tell Credence and to be honest, but that would be taking away so much hope from him – hope that people like him, hope that people care, the same hopes that Abernathy has. “This is very Percy of me to say, but sometimes people choose to rebel against convention. Not everybody can always want a boring primadonna and a popular jock to win, right?”

“Yeah...”

Abernathy sighs, looking up at the sky. It’s dotted with stars. He looks up at it a lot, usually from his bedroom window, and he tries to find the constellations: he finds Canis Major, Remus’s favourite, almost without needing to look, and the Dog Star winks down at him from the black curtain. “I wish I had stayed home with Remus, but here I am and here you are, and we better make something out of this. Right?”

“Right,” Credence says, a little more enthused to know that he’s definitely not the only person vaguely wishing he was at home (he does enjoy dancing with Newt, but it’s not entirely his thing). He can see now why Newt likes Abernathy: there’s something joyfully sweet about him that he’s entirely unaware of himself. “Thank you for coming out here.”

“No problem. But we should probably get back. Newt is up on stage, and he’s probably having to make the speech of his life right now.”

“He’s been talking the whole time?” Abernathy nods. Credence yelps and clambers to his feet: he doesn’t want to go back, and he would really rather stay curled up on the bench, but he doesn’t want Newt to have to keep speaking. He knows that Newt, too, probably wants to sink into the floor. “We should go back – oh, no, I didn’t mean to do this to him!”

“Hey,” says Abernathy, catching Credence’s hand. “You don’t need to rush if you’re not ready. Newt is really good at spinning things out. And, by gosh, he could talk about you all day.”

“No, I shouldn’t make him have to do this,” Credence replies, automatically straightening out the front of his blazer as he hurries back through the doors into the corridor, Abernathy hot on his heels until he cleanly overtakes. Credence almost stops in his surprise; Abernathy has the most effortless run he’s ever seen in his life. He doesn’t look like he’s even broken a sweat when he comes to a rest by the entrance to the gym. Credence arrives gasping for breath, staring at Abernathy.

“I run track,” he says.

Credence never would’ve guessed.

Abernathy holds out his hand; Credence takes it and lets his be squeezed before he pushes open the doors. Newt is standing on stage, in the middle of the story about how he and Credence first met, and he glances over, his face melting with relief: Abernathy is right and Newt can talk ears off of people, well-practiced in the art of winding sentences into paragraphs and paragraphs into pages, but he can’t help but be thankful that his neverending anecdotes have come to an end, as are the crowd, many of whom had begun talking among themselves already. He grabs Credence’s hand when he makes it on stage and leans briefly into his shoulder and whispers both “I’m sorry” and “thank you for coming; I know it’s hard”.

Most of the socialite girls glare at him like he’s just stolen all their boyfriends simultaneously, but the announcer gives him a smile with intensity to match Newt’s and leans forward to pat him on the back as she congratulates him. “Good on you, kid,” she says, but she says it honestly. She says it like she means it, and Credence somehow knows she does.

He leans in to the microphone. “Hello,” he says shyly. “And thank you.” He wants to leave it there, but also he doesn’t. “I just want to say that Newt is the best thing in the world, or maybe the universe.” And then he steps back and takes Newt’s hand and he can’t believe that he’s the one squeezing. Someone cheers. Someone yells “faggot”.

Then Percy throws the first punch.

Chaos breaks out instantly. Credence ducks out of the way immediately, but Newt flings himself between Percy and the offender, and he takes a moment to look at Percy in that desperate way before someone’s fist connects with his cheek and he jerks backwards, instinctively lashing back out, and what’s happening after that is lost in a haze of fists and blood and suit sleeves and slurs. Abernathy grabs Credence’s sleeve and pulls him towards the door.

“We need to get away,” he says.

“No,” says Credence. “Not without Newt.” He’s too scared for the violence, but he approaches, trying to catch a flash of ginger and tweed – maybe he can pull Newt out, whisk him away. But people are blurring and so is the dance hall and someone has pulled the lights up and people are yelling and Abernathy is still tugging at his damn arm and so is Tina now, telling him that he needs to come to safety, that Newt can hold his own, and Credence breaks away from them because he wants Newt to be safe, but he can’t get closer to the fight and he’s scared and then someone is in front of him, telling him how he’s sinful and wrong and should just die and the world in front of Credence is beginning to turn into stars and the boy is turning into Ma and his hands ache and his back aches and his heart aches and:

“If you lay a hand on him, I will make it so that your own mother doesn’t recognise you.” That’s Newt’s voice. That is _Newt’s voice_ threatening someone in the coldest tones he’s ever heard, like ice. Credence looks up in shock and the other boy is gone, leaving just Newt. He has a split lip and bloody nose, but he smiles like he always does, as if he hadn’t just delivered a stone-cold threat, and puts an arm around Credence. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get caught up in that.”

“Are you okay?” Credence asks, pushing him away to touch at his lip and nose and wipe the blood away, but he just smears it around.

“I’m fine. We should get out of here before the teachers break up the fight.” He nods at Abernathy and Tina and they stealthily escape out into the corridors, but Tina takes Credence’s arm and leads him ahead.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. Credence’s heart is pounding. “Are you okay? Seeing Newt like that...”

“It was scary, but – the way he was so prepared to defend me like that, I felt a little bit... It was like a rush. I was excited. Is that wrong? It sounds wrong.”

“No,” replies Tina, “I suppose not.” She laughs. “You two really are something, you know? And I’m glad you two are happy. You’ve both done such a one-eighty.”

“I’m glad, too,” Credence replies. “It’s nice not being sad. I didn’t think I would ever know what that was like a long time ago, but now it’s almost like I don’t know how to feel hopeless anymore.” He knows that Newt hasn’t heard this, being several paces behind and speaking softly to Abernathy, but he slows down so that he can reach out and take Newt’s hand again. He feels safe when he’s with Newt, feels like nothing can go wrong anymore (except perhaps for winning prom kings and the fight that ensued, but he chooses to ignore these as an anomaly).

“Hey! Where are you going without me, you bunch of bastards?” Credence turns, and Percy is sprinting along the corridor, catching up to them in a few long strides; he flings an arm around Newt. “Look at you. Blood on your face, like a real fighter!”

“Well, I didn’t mean it. But someone hit me and I just got caught up in a scuffle.” Newt wipes at the blood on Percy’s face, which doesn’t look like it’s his.

“Sorry for crashing your prom. But the kind of fuckers who use those slurs deserve a punch in the face. It’s not the eighteen-fucking-hundreds.” He runs a hand through his slicked-back hair. “We need a party. A good, after-prom party. We need to spice this shit up a little.”

“We should go to Fred’s,” Tina offers. Credence smiles: he’s only ever heard her complain about Fred and Queenie and how they spend far too much time together and how she always ends up at the receiving end of Fred’s mischievous pranks, but it’s almost impossible for Tina to hide her love for her own sister and her family. She speaks about them with that kind of familiar happiness that Credence feels for the MacBrides. “He brings the spice. To Sera’s coffee.”

This makes Percy laugh, and Credence feels less like he’s just escaped a gym hall-wide fight, and more like he’s just walked into a friendship.

Queenie is at the café, helping serve coffees. She doesn’t blend in to the hippie-on-acid background, but somehow seems to look at home anyway with her charismatic smile and ability to cheer anyone up. She taps Fred on the shoulder and excuses herself to run up to Newt and wipe at his face with a piece of tissue paper, fussing over him like a mother bird. Credence wonders how he came to be a part of this, this group where happiness is paramount and people who should hate each other and be unable to talk and go shy in each other’s faces can hold each other’s hands like it’s nothing. He wonders if he belongs in this group, but he doesn’t wonder for long because Tina guides him over to the counter, directing his attention to the chalkboards. He’s never been here before himself, but he’s heard the stories from Newt and the passing references from Percy and Tina. It’s just as wonderful as they describe it: colourful, vibrant, with decorations that seem almost alive. It also seems like the most beautiful example of disorder that Credence has ever seen.

Fred is more ginger than he imagined. “Hello there, gentlemen and Tina,” he calls, signalling Queenie to stop gently chastising Newt and Percy for getting in a fight. He catches Credence’s eye. His eyes are the most intense Credence thinks he might ever have seen; it’s like they’re exploding over and over, which sounds strange in Credence’s head, and yet also makes perfect sense. He tries to shrug it off; not a lot going on with him seems to make sense anymore. “Never seen you before. You Newt’s new lover boy?” He nods, vaguely unsure of what his answer should be. Fred spins to Newt, looking offended. “What did I tell you about eyebrows, Newt? Look at them! Those eyebrows look like trouble.”

Newt chortles. “I know, Fred. I know. I just love a good pair of eyebrows.”

“Can’t blame you, Newt. Eyebrows frame the face, as they say. Now, what can I get you fancy bunch?” Newt has his favourite: an Electric Cool-Aid, and Percy asks for whatever is the most alcoholic. Credence isn’t sure what most of the items on the menu are, so asks to be surprised with a flavour of coffee; Tina takes a spiced espresso and Abernathy a Matchmaker hot chocolate, with makes Newt laugh. Queenie pours herself a glass of lemonade. Fred playfully tells her off for being boring.

They sit on the biggest seats, three sofas crowded around a two-tiered wooden table complete with compartments and with coasters satirising the rules of grammar on top. In the centre of the table is a flowerpot with real flowers and packets of sugar pushed into the soil. Newt and Abernathy both frown at this. Percy is busy explaining the fight to Queenie, whose look of concern doesn’t once falter. Credence is still looking around, watching the ticking of one of the cuckoo clocks in the corner. Tina leans into him.

“This place is pretty amazing, isn’t it?” she says.

“Yeah,” he says. “I tried to imagine it, but it just looks so much better in real life.”

“Newt’s never taken you here before?” He shakes his head. “He really likes this place. Though maybe he was worried about you with all the flavours, and Fred being Fred. I guess he thinks you’re growing up.” She pats him on the back and laughs softly. Credence feels a swell of pride and glances over to Newt, who’s on his other side, complimenting Abernathy’s plant-shaped cufflinks (“Remus got me them,” he says, starry-eyed; Credence smiles at the look on his face).

After Fred brings them their drinks, Queenie hustles the group together. “We need to all talk together as a group,” she says, “not have individual discussions.” She rubs her hands together. “Do you guys all know where you’re going now, once high school is over? Newt?”

“I’m going to Cornell to major in Animal Science,” he says softly, taking a sip of his drink. Credence looks at the cocktail in amazement, at its electrifying blue gradient. He tries not to think about the fact that Newt is moving four hours away. He tries not to think about Newt falling in love with someone else. He worries that it’ll happen. He worries that, when Newt meets other people, he’ll realise that there are people better than Credence. And he tries not to think about not seeing Newt every day. He tries to think of how happy Newt will be in Cornell, in the pretty campus, studying something he loves, making new friends. “I’m quite excited. The course looks good, and so do the dorms.”

“Don’t get too excited in those dorms,” Percy teased. Newt shoots him half a glare, but he can’t will himself to really glare, because he’s heard the same jibe before. He looks over to his left, at Abernathy, who takes a few seconds to notice that the attention is drawn to him. He starts as he speaks.

“Oh, well, I’m going to the City College of New York,” he says. “Political Science, and a minor in Public Policy and Public Affairs.” He turns to Newt. “I couldn’t even think of leaving. How are you feeling? About being away from home?”

“I’m a bit nervous,” he admits. “I missed Theo a lot when he went back home for university, so I don’t know how I’ll be all on my own. But I want to do this course. And I’ll be back, obviously, as often as I can. So I’m trying to stay hopeful, mostly that I won’t set a fire in my dorm room.”

They turn to Percy. He scoffs. He scoffs again.

“Percy,” Newt says, “there is nothing wrong with your course.”

“Aww, shut your fucking pie hole, Newt.” He shakes his head. “You know what? I’ll tell everyone where I’m going if you chug a beer faster than me.”

“Don’t,” says Tina instantly, but Newt just smiles wryly and lifts his head, calling for two beers. They arrive promptly. Credence whispers in Newt’s ear to reconsider, but the atmosphere across the table is electric: he feels like there’s something going on between them, something that he can’t touch, something inaccessible to the rest of the table. He doesn’t think Newt can even drink the pint in one shot. Tina sighs and counts the two of them in.

Newt is straight in there, gulping down mouthful after mouthful, unrelenting. Some beer dribbles down his chin and Credence is tempted to wipe it, but there’s something around Newt that he feels he might shatter if he moves. They’re equally paced, making quick work of the dark yellow liquid, and Credence doesn’t even see it happen: he’s just aware that someone has slammed their pint glass on a coaster and that person is Newt. Percy spits out a word that sounds like every swear word Credence has ever heard combined when he finishes, and Newt belches loudly.

Credence giggles. He can’t help it. So does Tina. He looks across to her and they laugh at each other.

“Fucking fine,” Percy groans, suppressing the nausea rippling through his oesophagus. “I’m going to Parson’s. Fashion design.”

“ _Parson’s_?” Queenie almost spits out her lemonade in surprise. “That’s amazing, Percy!”

Newt turns to Tina, uncomfortable watching Percy squirm. “How about you, Tina?”

“I’m going to the NYPD Police Academy,” she replies proudly. She turns to Credence.

“Urban Studies at Columbia,” he says, which earns him a pat on the back from Tina. Newt has known ever since the letter of acceptance came back, but Credence didn’t tell anyone else, and the pride across the table makes a lump in his throat. Percy grunts and excuses himself for a cigarette; Newt follows, and so does Credence. He’s never had a cigarette before nor has he ever had the urge to, but he feels like he wants to try new things. He never has before, but he’s inspired to do something different.

They share a cigarette between them. It’s clear that Newt is no smoker: he holds the cigarette between his fingers with no pizzazz and almost sucks on it, and Credence just coughs for a while, overwhelmed by the disgusting taste, but he takes a few more puffs anyway, watching the smoke spiral up into the dark sky. He reaches a hand out and takes Newt’s in his, running his thumb over Newt’s knuckles.

“Are you always this sad, Percy?” Newt asks.

“Being happy in these days and in this climate is fucking impossible,” is the reply. Newt smiles.

“You’re looking in the wrong place.”

“Where is the right place?”

“People. Not politics.”

Percy groans and hands the cigarette to Newt. “Finish it yourselves. Fucking hippie.” He goes back inside and Newt turns to Credence without a word, passing him the cigarette. Credence chokes a little on it, though he’s not entirely sure it’s the tobacco’s fault. A part of him is enchanted by the way the lamplight paints Newt’s face golden, the way it casts strokes of yellow across his impressionist features. But he’s saddened, too. He knows that Newt falls back in love with Percy a little every time their eyes meet. He reaches his free hand over to caress Newt’s cheek, and this teases a smile from his shadowed lips.

“He’ll be fine,” says Credence.

“I know,” says Newt. “We all are. In the end.”

“Are we?”

“Maybe not. But I try to be hopeful.”

They share the rest of the cigarette and a kiss, a slow one that moves to nip along Credence’s neck, before they go back inside. Queenie is eagerly waiting for Newt, holding a dark wood ukulele in her hand, and she beams at him as she holds it out.

“Fred’s brother used to play, but he doesn’t anymore, and I thought you might like it,” she says. Newt smiles as he takes it, collapsing back down onto the sofa. “Play us a tune!”

“Sure,” Newt says, running his thumb down the strings and checking that they’re in tune, twisting the tuners casually. Credence takes a few sips of Newt’s drink to get rid of the taste of nicotine from his tongue; it tastes nice, sweet and fizzy. He can’t help but take a few more sips as everybody’s eyes fall on Newt, who has leaned back, ukulele tucked to his chest. “I used to play a ukulele back home, but it got destroyed in the move.”

“I just figured you could play,” says Tina. “You’re good at instruments. Sorry I assumed.”

“No problem,” Newt replies. “I like to play instruments in general.”

As he begins to strum, Fred sneaks up to Credence and hands him his own blue drink and whispers for him to enjoy it. Credence doesn’t watch Newt. He always does when Newt is playing, but this time he watches the people around him: Tina next to him, Percy sprawled out on the sofa opposite, Abernathy on the edge of his sofa, eyes wide with engagement, Queenie sitting and looking like honey.

Credence feels happy. He loves Newt. Everyone loves Newt. And Newt Scamander is beautiful.

“ _He’s got blue eyes like no one that I’ve ever met_  
One of us hurts and the rest start feeling it  
Mother is a redhead and father had a rough start  
Hope is something tougher than the buffalo

_And you’re only breathing high time  
We’re on the back one suckin’ up the oxygen_

_We’re together and we’re pulling through_  
You find a way to live what’s best for you  
You’re your father’s son, you’re your mother’s babe  
You are them and yet something entirely different too”

He leans his head on Newt’s shoulder.  

As the conversation delves from sensibility into tipsy giggling, Fred passes Credence several more drinks and Newt moves on to slightly more alcoholic drinks until his eyes dance with stars and he laughs aimlessly into the tight fabric of Credence’s shoulder. Tina, despite her own staunchness of not falling into Percy’s traps, shares a strange multicoloured drink that cracks like lightning and fizzes electrically with Abernathy, who looks a little like a mouse on his first sip and more like a house cat on his last. Queenie stays sober on the behalf of the group, spending twenty minutes outside in the sticky summer heat when the alcohol running circles around Percy’s head decides to constrict and he starts to cry because he can’t keep the tears from falling.

Fred watches in utter amusement, of course. He deals in this entropy. If he had to describe himself in serious terms, which he would of course never do because he wastes none of his time in being serious, he would call himself an enzyme, but though there’s Percy’s almost expected meltdown, it seems to open the rest of the group. Abernathy, who can only speak to Newt tersely despite himself, has unravelled and his limbs are soft and relaxed as he speaks in gestures, a strange sense of what might just possibly be some sort of authority coming through in his tone; Tina, who so often displays a seeming disaffectation to the world, looks like she might possibly have realised that things can be fun, and looks like she’s on top of the world. Newt is not much different, though with added hysteria and much less inhibition. Credence just can’t stop smiling.

Their night at Fred’s ends with Newt and Percy belting Boston’s _More Than A Feeling_ when it comes over the speakers. Percy sings it with angry abandon; Newt sings it with bittersweet nostalgia, remembering being tucked in bed with the record spinning, Percy next to him, in days that make Newt feel like he’s required by law to wax poetic about. Queenie decides it’s time for them to go home and she and Tina accompany Percy while Abernathy walks with Credence and Newt, who is cradling his ukulele like a baby. Abernathy hopes that Newt never has children, because if he holds them like that, he’ll crush them by accident. When he expresses this, Newt guffaws.

Abernathy takes another street halfway, leaving just Newt and Credence, who trample into Newt’s house; Theo is sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and watches them with a raised eyebrow.

“And how much exactly did you drink, little brother?” he asks accusingly.

“He chugged a whole beer,” Credence says, “and he did it so fast and it was incredible and I’ll never forget it.”

Theo sighs and shakes his head. “Go to bed, both of you.”

Newt climbs the stairs, still clutching his ukulele. He presses play on his CD player as he sets the ukulele against the wall by his flood of homeless albums and _2 Atoms in a Molecule_ begins to play. Newt makes a face at the stereo because he doesn’t remember this being what he was last listening to, but he’s disturbed from his confusion by the sound of Credence crashing into his bed (now, very finally, a double bed, so that they stop pushing each other out and onto the floor). He stares up at the ceiling, through the canopy of ivy suspended in a pot hanging above the bed. Newt briefly toys with the idea of making love with Credence until he realises that he’s far too tired and would rather sit on the floor and laugh and cry at life or a movie. He picks _10 Things I Hate About You_. He laughs a lot. Credence cries and goes through a packet of tissues.

“Why are you crying?” asks Newt.

“Because everyone’s got such sad stories,” answers Credence, slurring a little. “It’s not fair.”

When the film is over, Newt plays Oasis and opens his window like it’s a door. He hangs his head out as he lights a cigarette from the packet he pickpocketed from Percy. He’d intended to throw them away; he didn’t much like the idea of Percy going down the route of addiction, but in the warm air and to the tune of _Wonderwall_ , smoking is all that seems right. Credence watches the smoke plumes that spill out from between Newt’s pink lips and kisses them between cigarettes. They watch _Rushmore_ and chain smoke their way through it, and when it ends, Theo tentatively opens the door, choking on the tobacco clouds.

“Jesus, Newt, you are drunk,” he says and sighs. “We’re great kids, aren’t we? Insomniacs who smoke and drink.”

“You just drink tea,” Newt points out. “And I usually don’t drink. This is a very special occasion, because we wrecked our own prom.”

Theo rolls his eyes, ignoring what sounds like Newt’s typical teenage drama. “Get some shoes on. We’re going for a drive.”

Theo drives a convertible in a cobalt blue. Credence knows next to nothing about cars, but he knows it’s a nice car, well-kept and clean. Newt has his last cigarette between his fingers when Theo snatches it out. “If you get addicted, mum’ll blame herself. Keep out the habit, Newt. Please.”

“Okay,” Newt says, surprisingly sober for a moment before he starts guffawing near-manically and tells Theo to play the ‘best mixtape’. Credence doesn’t know what to expect. While Newt and Theo have been on sleepless drives before, Credence just sits and listens to music on his bed and browses Newt’s social media; he doesn’t know what this is going to be like.

He loves it.

They rush along highways and through tunnels and out of the city and the car stereo blares music that makes Credence feel like he wants to stand up and scream. Newt makes him feel alive. He always has. He catches the storming air between his fingers while his other hand ventures out to squeeze Newt’s. Newt, who is high on alcohol and the speed of the streets rushing by, switches between giggling and belting the words to whatever song is playing. They’re all incredible. Credence thinks that they could drive like this for all eternity.

“ _Sometimes life it takes you by the hand_ …”

He looks at Newt, who looks back, lips caught between lyrics, and Credence starts to laugh.

“I love you!” he shouts.

“Me too!” Newt shouts back, and the world around them has dissolved into Foster the People and each other’s lips.


	3. is it really this fun when you're on my mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theseus has to drive Newt and Credence back home.

It takes Newt a few minutes to gain his bearings the next morning. He’s in the back seat of Theo’s car and they’re pulled up in a hard shoulder somewhere out in the middle of what feels like nowhere and he thinks he might have a cold. Or a hangover. He remembers chugging a beer. That can’t have helped.

Credence is asleep next to him and Theo is leaning against the hood, drinking a carton of orange juice of indefinite age that’s been in the glovebox for as long as Newt can remember. He heaves himself out of the car, feeling like he might weigh a hundred thousand pounds, and Theo gives him a few sips of orange juice and ruffles his hair for the effort. “Morning, little brother.”

“Morning,” he mumbles and yawns. “Sorry for last night. Or this morning, I suppose.”

“Which part?” Theo teases. “I forgive you for being a drunk smoker and for needing driven. I’m not sure I forgive you for the rest.”

Newt tries not to think about the rest, because if his memory serves, it involved Majical Cloudz’s _Downtown_ and the parts of Credence his id is fixated with. He rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand and wishes it would get rid of his splitting headache which is worsened by the brightness of the morning summer sun spilling out over them; it’s so wonderfully _warm_ , but it feels like someone’s shining a light right into his eyes and it hurts. It reminds him why he doesn’t get drunk terribly often. “So, what do we do now?”

“There’s a diner back in the direction of home. When Credence wakes up, we’ll go get breakfast there, and then we drive home. We can stop at a chemist if you need something for that hangover.”

“Please.”

Credence is quiet when he wakes up, feeling unwell (Newt jokes lovingly that he’s a lightweight), watching the highway pass dizzily by on the way to the diner, which is bright and neon fluorescent and smells incredibly of pancakes and bacon and plays nothing but Mac DeMarco. It has a jukebox, purple and pink, but much to Newt’s disappointment, it’s out of order. The waitresses all look bored, and one pops bubblegum the colour of the Fight Club logo.

Credence eats a tall stack of pancakes drizzled in maple syrup, while Newt and Theo go for bacon, eggs, sausages, tomato, mushrooms, and baked beans. Newt wolfs his breakfast down with orange juice and coffee, feeling utterly abysmal in matters of health and hoping that if he eats enough it’ll help, while Credence eats more slowly, savouring the taste and trying to ignore the fact that he feels sick.

“How are you feeling?” Newt asks between courses, wiping at the sides of his mouth with a napkin. Queenie has messaged him asking how he is; he replies courteously that he’s fine, just out for breakfast, and that he’s with Credence and he is also fine. She says that Percy is with her and Tina and eating omelettes. Newt laughs at their mirrored situations; he’d never expected to be here, hungover and sick and stuffing himself with food, never mind doing it simultaneously with a Percy several miles away.

Credence groans. “A bit bad. My head hurts and my throat is sore.”

Newt smiles sympathetically. “Just keep drinking water or juice. Theo says we can go to the pharmacy – er, drugstore on the way home.” He curses his Britishness.

“Does your mom know we’re here?”

“Theo called her when he woke up.”

Credence smiles. “Last night was crazy. And amazing. And I can’t say I’d like to do it again anytime soon, but I think it was one of the best days of my life.”

“Me too.”

“I might’ve cried when _Heroes_ was playing.”

“Credence, I _was_ crying.”

Credence laughs. When Theo comes back, they’re holding hands under the table and listening to music on Newt’s phone through his earphones. He gets dessert menus and Credence avoids the cheesecake, still wary of the name, opting for a chocolate mousse cake. Newt drinks a thick Oreo shake. Theo has an ice cream sundae which he has to share with Newt and Credence, unable to finish it himself, and when they drive back, they’re all full and happy. Credence leans on Newt’s shoulder on the way.

“I’ll miss you when you’re at Cornell,” he says.

“I’ll visit,” Newt replies. “And we can talk on the phone and on Skype.”

“But I’ll miss you being here. Like this.”

“Me too.” Newt runs a hand through Credence’s hair. Though it’s grown out, he maintains a hidden undercut for Newt, who runs his fingers along the lengthening stubble. Sometimes when they’re particularly close, he likes to kiss it, which sends shivers up Credence’s spine. “But like we got used to this, we’ll get used to what’s next. And we’ll make those days good, too.”

Credence pauses, then turns again. “Who’s going to take care of your pets?”

“Theseus will. But I was hoping you could pop in now and then. Speak to them. They all like you, even Kitkat.”

“I will,” says Credence, hoping it’s a promise, hoping he’ll have the strength to walk into the house when Newt’s not there. When it’s empty. When there’s no record spinning on the turntable. When it’s just a shell of what it was. “I will.”

He doesn’t notice that he’s started to cry until a tear falls onto his hand. Newt wipes it away, and he just keeps smiling.


	4. your feet in the air and your head on the ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt gears up to leave, and celebrates his birthday at a Pizza Hut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter, but it also totally makes me cringe in places. 'm sorry.

The day before Newt moves to Cornell is his birthday. He gets a car from his mother so that he can drive back and forth. It’s bright green and Theo has placed bumper stickers on it, of Bowie and Grimes and The Smiths (“just so we’re _sure_ it’s your car,” he teases). It has an air freshener that smells of peppermint and sweets and chocolate are stuffed in the doors and the glove compartment, all ready for his travels. He feels a lump in his throat when he hugs Theo and his mother because suddenly the world feels all too real and he’s leaving and he’s going to be without Theo, without home cooked breakfast and midnight drives with his brother in the knowledge that the horrible feelings that sometimes surface are something that he’s not experiencing alone. He also dreads the idea of being without his record player and without his CD racks, without his cassettes, the idea of not being able to listen to music all day. He feels fear, nervousness that brims, whistling like a kettle before it boils. He hopes that he can switch the kettle off.

He doesn’t drive it that day. He goes to Pizza Hut with Credence and Tina and Queenie and Percy and Abernathy and Jacob. Jacob isn’t so much a part of their group, but Newt has appreciated his support and pastries, and somehow the idea of not inviting Jacob out to eat just seemed perverse. Percy looks a little better when they leave the street together, with his hair ruffled and spiked and no packet of cigarettes in his pocket. He gives Newt the same present he gave Credence: a triangle with a circle inside on a thin piece of black rope.

“What is this?” Newt asks.

Percy looks over at him. “It’s my symbol. My logo. What I want on my label, if I ever get one. And for you and Credence and anyone else, it’s connection.” He stops in the street. “I don’t want to be forgotten. I want to be someone.”

“I’m here with you,” Newt says, touching the symbol, tucked in next to Credence’s magpie necklace. “You are someone to me. How could I forget you?”

Percy tucks his head in to Newt’s shoulder for a moment before pulling back. “Thanks. And happy birthday.”

They pick up Credence next. He’s overslept and is in a mad dash out the door, hair puffed up and his T-shirt rumpled, a Barnes and Noble tote bag slung over his shoulder. “Sorry,” he says through gasped breaths as he rushes out into the street. “I’ll, um, give you your present once we’re there.”

Newt has never actually been to Abernathy’s house (not that it’s his) since he moved – Abernathy keeps himself to himself, and if he’d wanted Newt over, he’d have asked, and he never had. He had to wheedle the address out, and it’s a nice little apartment flooded with light from its many windows. He lives on the top floor and the trio are breathless when they reach his door (“why is the fucking elevator out of order?” Percy groans at the sign. “This isn’t the fucking Big Bang Theory. They should get that shit fixed”).

“Your house is nice,” Newt says, peering past Abernathy’s shoulders. It reminds him a little of IKEA, but he doesn’t see much of it, because Abernathy pushes forward and shuts the door behind him. He looks happy, his hair a little messy and not completely slicked back, and he’s wearing a stripy shirt with a few buttons at the top undone and light brown shorts like he’s at the beach in a movie. The collar of his shirt is affixed with a badge advocating ska music. Somehow, Newt doesn’t think it’s his.

“Remus decorates,” says Abernathy as they make their way back down the countless flights of stairs. He almost flies down them, used to the walk, and Newt has to hurry to stay after him. “I’ve got no sense of taste in design. He’s the one with the eye for things. Pinterest boards and everything.”

“You look good,” says Newt. “And happy. I like that shirt. Is that vintage?”

“Yeah. Just trying to get away from the old wardrobe somehow.”

“I’m glad to see you looking better.”

“It’s slow.”

“But it’s getting there.”

Credence and Percy trail behind together, vaguely exchanging pleasantries. Credence plays with the strap of his tote bag, then toys with his own necklace from Percy, the symbol tucked underneath his shirt; he’d gotten so used to hiding it when he was with the Barebones that he feels strange wearing it any other way. “I didn’t even know you were into fashion,” Credence says softly.

“I haven’t seen a proper pair of Westwood-style bondage trousers on the market for years. So the solution was that I made my own. And it means I spend less overall, and fuck capitalism.” He sighs. “And I get out of that shitty-ass high school.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Fuck no I don’t like it! I don’t like any school. They don’t teach you anything. The fuck have I learned in school that I’m taking to college? School certainly didn’t teach me how to make anything.”

“I suppose,” says Credence, who rather likes school. “As long as you enjoy Parson’s.”

“Doubt it. Everybody in that fucking pricey-ass piece of crap is probably going to just be the new generation of capitalist assholes who pretend that their clothes mean something. I want mine to mean something. I want to make a statement.” He doesn’t say anything for a while, brooding, then tries to be a little less obtuse and turns to Credence. “How are you feeling? No Newt and all.”

“I’m gonna miss him,” Credence says. “A lot. But I know that he’s doing what makes him happy, so I can just – I can try and think about that. When I miss him.”

“I’m not going to offer myself here, because frankly, I’m shit company, but Newt always liked having someone around to talk to. When he wasn’t well. And it was usually me. So you could always talk to someone. Queenie or Jacob. They’d be good to talk to.”

“But Newt talked to you.”

“We were dating. Of course he talked to me.”

“But he just talked to you. That means you were important. You were who was helping. He didn’t need anyone else, because if he had, he would’ve spoken to them.”

Percy swallows. “Way to turn up the music at the two-year-old angst party.”

“I just meant that maybe sometimes I would like to talk to you, too.”

“Don’t expect much.”

Credence thinks that Percy maybe hasn’t picked up on the fact that Credence is asking him over for Percy’s benefit as much as his own – he thinks that Mrs MacBride would have a lot to say to Percy – but he decides not to say anything to scare him off, so keeps walking along. He wishes that Percy was okay. Sometimes he has days where he feels a little off-kilter or days where he’d like to slide underneath his bed and lie there and not move like Newt’s cat Kitkat, but he’s better for a large part, and he likes being better. He’d rather _everyone_ was better.

Tina and Queenie look like they’ve been waiting for Newt. They both hold plastic bags that they refuse to divulge or even partially open until they’re at Pizza Hut, and giggle enigmatically to each other the whole time. Queenie is wearing one of Fred’s green and orange polka-dot blazers and Newt compliments her on it.

She smiles. “I don’t think I suit being psychedelic the way he does.”

“Probably not. He’s in an 80s funk league of his own.”

“How long have you two known each other?” she asks, tucking some of her hair behind her ear as she smiles at Newt, who is grinning with the joy he can’t suppress of being with his friends. “He talks about you like you’re lifelong friends.”

“He only opened up a couple of years ago, not very long, and Theo was over here – it was really his only visit while he was studying in the UK – and he thought it looked cool, so he took me there for some coffee. I liked it and the atmosphere and his interior design skills are incredible, chaotic or not, so I kept going back, and he struck up conversation with me. We just sort of ended up friends – and then, of course, he met Abernathy and Percy, so he had a lot of insight into my personal life. And he’s another Brit in America, so we relate.” He smiles. “He always likes to crack jokes when I come in and just poke any kind of fun.”

“You guys go way back, huh?” She smiles. “He talks about you really fondly. Says that regular customers like you – and ones who talk back, like you – are one of the highlights of working at a café.”

“Well, I’m glad he likes me. I like the café. I’m going to miss it, I think, though apparently there’s a good one near the dorms.”

“You and coffee, Newt.” Queenie laughs.

Newt’s pizza place of choice is Pizza Hut, who are offering an all-you-can-eat buffet, which does little more than to show the exceptional lengths Newt’s stomach will go to for food. They sit in the corner on a cushioned round bench that curls round their circular table and Percy drinks an unhealthy amount of Pepsi refills. As they finish their first round of pizza slices (Newt: 3, Tina, Percy: 2, Credence, Abernathy, Queenie: 1), Queenie decides it’s time for Newt to be given his presents. Credence nods solemnly, his face lighting up like a firecracker as he passes over his bag, which is fairly weighty in Newt’s hands.

The first thing Credence has bought him is a small plush ginger cat so fluffy that Newt has to resist the temptation to rub it against his cheek for the sensation. “I thought, since you weren’t going to be able to take him with you, you could take Cat Stevens in spirit.”

Newt laughs at this and thanks Credence – he won’t say it, but he has a feeling he might rely a little on the faux Cat Stevens to keep him company. The next present is in another bag (“bagception,” Newt mutters to himself) from Newt’s favourite record store and is a collection of records Credence chose on the basis of how nice they looked and whether or not Newt already had them (he spent an ungodly amount of time sneakily cataloguing Newt’s stacks of records; he found that the easiest way to do this was when Newt was tired, when he would ask Credence to change the record for him). His choices are:

 _Never Enough – Public Access T.V._  
Bad Humors – Madeira  
A Storm in Heaven – The Verve  
The Orange Glow – Globelamp   
2 – Mac DeMarco

“Oh,” Newt whispers, “bless your soul. I love The Verve. And DeMarco. And Public Access T.V.”

“I know,” Credence replies with a smile.

Credence’s final gift is a _Gone With the Wind_ T-shirt. Newt is half-tempted to pull it over his plain white T-shirt, but he doesn’t, just folds it up neatly and places it in his Fjallraven, which looks painfully bare without his school books inside, placing the bag inside too. He presses a kiss to Credence’s cheek.

“You are far too good,” he says.

“I wanted to make up for the fact that you were leaving.”

Abernathy and Percy take the opportunity to bring more pizza for everyone and some salad while Queenie passes Newt over her carefully guarded plain white plastic bag, biting her lip to suppress a giggle, looking over to Tina as if to confirm her feelings. Newt pulls from the bag an oversized denim jacket with (faux) fur trim and, covering the entire back side of the jacket, a mural of David Bowie, headlined by a replica of the _Aladdin Sane_ album cover, with the many eras of Bowie snaking up the sleeves and skirting Newt’s sides. The front has patches sewn and ironed on, of the lightning bolt and the blackstar and the occasional song title. The top of the sleeves have _you like me_ and _I like it all_ lovingly hand painted in white on them.

Newt has no words. He just pushes his hands through the comfortable sleeve and pulls it on, grinning manically, feeling like he’s on top of the world. “You are too good for this world, Queenie Goldstein. In fact, bugger that; all of you are the best in the world, including our absent friends, Abernathy and Percy.”

Credence wants to say that they’re not really absent because he can see them arguing over how much pizza to bring back and how many refills you can actually have of infinite refills, but decides to say nothing and just admires how good Newt looks in a jean jacket. It suits his light dusting of freckles, and somehow it makes his lips look plusher.

Tina’s present is a Barnes and Noble voucher and a collection of books and films she picked up from a combination of thrift shops, record stores, and commercial chains. She’s always somehow been the best educated about Newt’s love of films and books, perhaps because she follows his Goodreads and IMDB accounts and mostly because she once mentioned to Newt that she loved _The Royal Tenenbaums_ and had never forgotten the beauty of the look in his face as he began to talk, at length, about his love for Wes Anderson, and he had scribbled down some film recommendations for her, and they had quietly swapped film and book recommendations in each other’s lockers afterwards. All thanks to Credence, of course – not that he’d known. Just that he’d introduced them.

Credence found out when Tina had to ask him to make a list of every film and book Newt owned, which had meant finding where Newt kept his films. They were not all in the same place. It had been a difficult endeavour, but Credence hadn’t minded it one bit, because asking Newt to watch a film always resulted in something nice. Sometimes they would watch with a steaming cup of hot chocolate topped with cream and marshmallows and sit on the carpet between the birds and the degus and the guinea pigs and sit with their legs intertwined where they were crossed. Sometimes they would watch tucked in together in Newt’s bed; occasionally, Newt would buy a packet of cookies and they would eat these cookies while watching. Newt often cried at films. Credence would wipe away his tears or, if he was feeling brave, kiss them away. Sometimes Credence cried too, and Newt would always be crying if Credence cried, and they would laugh at each other and dab away the wetness on their cheeks, and sometimes Newt would kiss him or he would kiss Newt and they ran high on that post-film adrenaline and they would venture somewhere altogether different. And so, when Credence had needed to catalogue Newt’s film collection, he had not minded one bit.

She had bought him:

 _Amores Perros  
Dead Man’s Shoes  
Drugstore Cowboy  
Slacker  
Donnie Darko _ (Tina had been in utter disbelief that Newt could have never seen Donnie Darko, but had never convinced him to watch it; something about him had been wary of the film, but she knew he would love it)  
_500 Days of Summer_ (he loved the film, yet didn’t own it)  
_if...._

 _The Hotel New Hampshire –_ John Irving  
_Franny and Zooey –_ J. D. Salinger  
_Submarine –_ Joe Dunthorne (he had seen the film many times, of course)  
_Portnoy’s Complaint –_ Philip Roth (Tina had wondered if this might be an inappropriate book to buy Newt, and had read a chapter and laughed so hard she had dropped her change on the floor and had to immediately buy it, knowing that Newt would laugh, too, and perhaps laugh so hard he’d fall out of bed)  
_Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe –_ Benjamin Alire Sáenz  
_Bridge to Terabithia –_ Katherine Paterson  
_I’ll Give You The Sun –_ Jandy Nelson

“I know you’ll have finished all those in no time at all,” she says, “but I thought it could take up some of your time at Cornell.” She smiles as she says this. Newt almost cries.

“This’ll take up plenty of time, and thank you so much,” he says, tucking them away. Any kind of entertainment overjoys him, and he worries that he might think too much, feel too much, miss lying in bed with Credence just holding his hand, and he appreciates this. Appreciates that Tina wants him to be okay. Appreciates that she knows him too well. Appreciates that she knows what he loves – hell, he even appreciates the fact that she’s almost forcing him to watch Donnie Darko. He knows he’ll enjoy it. But he’s also afraid sometimes of watching films, because then he’ll have seen it and it’ll no longer be a beautiful dream of screenshots on Tumblr and Jake Gyllenhaal’s Kubrick stare.

Abernathy and Percy arrive moments after Newt has awkwardly tried to hug Queenie and Tina together across the spiral and pass along slices of pizza. They sense the feeling in the air: a feeling of warmth, of watching a movie bathed in sunshine in the heat of a summer’s day with someone you love with your arm around them. And Percy almost smiles.

He’s never stopped loving Newt, and every time he sees Newt with that light behind his eyes, he feels incredible. Because Newt is okay. He’s not okay – he knows that, he accepts that, he is trying to do something about that – but knowing that Newt, who had cried and cried and haemorrhaged feelings in his lap not so long ago, was okay made him feel like there was a light in the world. And that it was on at 400 luxs.

Abernathy’s gift to Newt is a Polaroid camera (he won’t say this, but it’s on Remus’s suggestion; he can’t buy gifts for the life of him) and Francesca Lia Block’s _Dangerous Angels_. Newt accepts both happily when he pauses, noticing that his friends seem a little fidgety. Queenie sits forward, but Percy interrupts her.

“We decided to all get you something, Newt,” he says. “As a gift. Because we all fucking love you. And we’re all going to miss you and your records and your ginger hair when you’re gone. So we wanted to give you something special, since – well, we’ve done so much together.”

“Have we?” Newt asks absentmindedly.

“Maybe technically not,” says Tina. Queenie has to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

“Does it matter? We’re all friends and we all care,” Credence interrupts, and Queenie takes from her handbag a selection of plain CDs. Each CD has different handwriting, but they all say the same thing: _For Newt._ “It’s music for you. We all picked songs out for it, for whatever reasons we thought were good enough, and we hope you’ll listen to it.” Newt takes it, speechless, when Credence again interrupts. “And, um, I made you a mixtape too. I know you like them. I put a lot of thought into it, and apparently people spent a lot of time thinking about the order and how well the songs work together, so I hope you like it, because I worked hard.”

“You guys should stop,” Newt says softly, “because at this rate, I’ll cry so hard I run out of tears.”

Percy laughs and shoulders him warmly. “Get some fucking pizza down you and enjoy your birthday, Salamander.”

As they tuck back into the food, Newt turns to Credence. “Speaking of mixtapes,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and producing a small cassette tape. “I have the one that we played in the car after prom when we went driving. I thought you might like to listen to it.”

“I want to listen to every song over and over until my life melts into those moments in that car when everything felt amazing,” Credence says, extremely philosophically, then pockets the cassette and goes back to eating pizza as if what he said hadn’t just been enough of a knockout line to attract both Abernathy and Queenie’s attention (he apparently says a lot of extremely philosophical things that he’s never aware he’s actually said). Abernathy knows the feeling well. When he looks at the stars, all he can hear is _These Days_ , and all he can feel are Remus’s fingers in his. He’s never heard it been described before. Credence describes it perfectly.

He smiles across the table at Credence, who notices and smiles back as if he understands. He probably doesn’t, reckons Abernathy, but there is the offchance he does and that offchance matters.

Once they’ve finished the pizza and eaten so much hot cookie dough that they all feel sick, Queenie demands that Newt drives them. His car doesn’t have enough room for everyone in it, and Percy is about to forfeit his place, but Tina gets there first. She wants to drive, she wants to feel what it’s like to live in the bubble that Newt exists in, but she knows that it matters more to Percy. She knows that he needs it more. So she takes responsibility, and hugs Newt, and smiles kindly and walks back home as he takes off down the streets, Credence finding Newt’s stash of CDs (all zipped up in a large folder) and placing in the one that’s just marked _late night driving_.

It’s not a late night. And they don’t drive out to a diner in what feels like nowhere, and there’s no open roof so that the wind whips their hair and they can scream out into the pitch black.

But it’s special.

And it’s Newt’s last day at home.

Again, he doesn’t think he’s going to forget this anytime soon. The atmosphere is electric.

Abernathy does not say anything when he notices that Percy is crying, nor does he say anything when Percy takes his hand and squeezes it hard.


	5. am i free or am i tied up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally the day: Newt leaves for Cornell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I broke my own goddamn heart writing this I stg

Newt doesn’t expect anybody to turn up to say goodbye to him, except of course Credence, who had stayed over and wasn’t going anywhere. He flings his suitcases into the car boot in relative silence and stuffs more CD cases and snacks in the glove box (he figures he’s likely to get hungry on a four-hour or longer drive). When Credence comes up from having gotten some toast for breakfast, Newt is standing in the middle of his room with one of his newer birds nesting in his hair, Cat Stevens wrapped around his shoulders and Frank at his feet, assuring them that he’ll be back as often as he can. The room seems empty without music playing; his record player is quiet, all of his vinyl in a neat stack up against it, and his shelves are missing a collection of CDs. Credence didn’t know that Newt had a portable CD player, but he does, and it’s in one of his suitcases up by the wall. His bookcases are mostly intact, thanks to Tina’s generosity. Credence thinks he might try to read some of them while Newt is away – both Theo and Mrs Scamander have extended an invitation for him to come round whenever he wants.

Newt notices that Credence is in the room and turns around. One hand is reached up and scratching between Cat Stevens’s ears. His eyes are watery, but he smiles anyway. “Sorry,” he says. “Just saying my goodbyes.”

“That’s okay.” Credence kisses Cat Stevens’s head. The cat purrs cheerily, unaware. Or perhaps he is aware. Perhaps he just doesn’t care. He’s a cat, after all, and in Newt’s experience, cats are hard to read. “I’ll try and take care of them. I hope. I read your blog a few times. I’ll make sure Theo waters your plants. And I’ll take Frank on walks sometimes.”

“You don’t have to,” Newt says kindly.

“I want to.”

“Thank you.” Newt’s smile broadens, a little light of genuine happiness shining through. Credence thinks that this is a good time to kiss him; Newt kisses back, raising his hands to hold Credence’s cheeks. Cat Stevens evacuates the premises at this point, slinking away to go bother Mrs Scamander; Credence slips his hand down the front of Newt’s jeans, revelling in the gasps this elicits. Newt says something that sounds like a lot of things at once and digs his fingers into Credence’s shoulders as he’s worked over, pushing his face into Credence’s neck.

It forces him not to think. It forces him to feel and he doesn’t mind feeling, especially not when it feels like this ecstasy.

Credence makes short work of him, knowing where Newt is most sensitive, where makes him squeeze his eyes shut, where makes him go a little slack-jawed with pleasure. When he comes, Newt holds him tight, breathless and taut. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, because everything in his chest is constricted and he just wants to listen to Credence breathe and just wants to be in his arms for what might be the last time for a while.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says softly. Credence knows he doesn’t have to say it back, because if he does, his voice might break.

Credence finishes his toast downstairs in the kitchen. Newt goes for a cheese toastie instead, ignoring Mrs Scamander’s efforts to make him eat more for the ride, and they drink hot chocolates, which Newt follows immediately with a coffee. He puts a few more things in his Fjallraven and folds up a few T-shirts to add. While he’s in the middle of folding one T-shirt neatly into a square and Credence is drinking another hot chocolate (Mrs Scamander _insisted_ he needed as much comfort as possible), Newt pauses, unfolds the shirt, and tells Credence to put it on. They watch a few episodes of _Fresh Meat_ together before the doorbell goes and it’s for Newt and it’s Percy.

He eyes Credence’s newly acquired Joy Division shirt at the door and they sit together around the kitchen table. Mrs Scamander makes him a cheese toastie that he doesn’t ask for (she’s enjoying her new toastie maker), but that he eats anyway. Abernathy arrives not long after, followed soon by the Goldstein sisters, and Jacob. They help Newt load his suitcases into the boot and Jacob gives him some pastries to snack on and a bag of sweets. While everyone else is distracted, Tina hoisting Newt’s heaviest suitcase down the stairs single-handedly much to Theo’s admiration, Queenie gives Credence his own denim jacket to match Newt’s, though his is not quite as covered in his paint. _We can be heroes_ is emblazoned on the back of his jacket and he pulls it snugly around himself.

“You stop flirting,” she says to Tina, who is talking to Theo in the doorway, winking at her sister. Tina goes tomato red and Theo takes a step away, looking shier than usual. She carries Newt’s guitar for him, too, while he takes his ukulele and Percy takes his amp. They work as a unit to help him pack his car and make sure he has everything he needs, and once the boot has been slammed shut for the last time, they gather as a collective on the street.

Percy takes it upon himself to hug Newt first. “I love you,” he says into Newt’s ear, “and I always bloody have. So take care of yourself out there.”

“I think I should be saying that to you,” Newt replies, patting Percy on the back and handing him a DVD of a show called _Flowers_ , which Percy has never heard of, though he thinks he remembers Newt calling him in floods of tears after watching it and begging him to come over. Newt says it’s important that he watch it; for once, Percy thinks he might.

Abernathy is next. His hug is a little more reserved. He still worries that he cares too much about Newt. “Good luck,” he says, “and enjoy Cornell.”

Tina follows up this with another stiff hug, unsure entirely of how tightly she should hug him; Percy had gone for it, of course, but then again, Percy had been in love with Newt. She had never been in love with Newt like that. She promises to take care of Credence and Percy and anyone who needs it, and Newt smiles.

“Thanks,” he says. She looks up at him. “I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

Jacob hugs him next, a big bear hug, tall and small. He doesn’t really know what to say, so instead offers more pastries. He is followed by Queenie, who knows that she doesn’t need to say anything to Newt. She just smiles at him with a smile so wide that it’s like staring into the sun.

Theseus is up next. “I love you, little brother.”

Newt grins as best he can. “Me, too.”

And then Mrs Scamander, who finds herself completely devoid of words. She holds Newt for a long time, stifling her sobs and smiling up at him through her tears. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know how she’s going to handle not hearing the faint echoes of music seeping through his walls, handle only making breakfast for one son, handle knowing that he might be struggling again, four hours away. And four hours is a long time when something bad happens, but she pats him hard on the back, and thinks _my son is going to Cornell, and I couldn’t be prouder_.

Nobody minds Credence being the last person to hug Newt; they all know this is the moment where everything becomes reality. They’re both wearing their denim jackets and they scratch against each other when they embrace, clinging onto each other for dear life, almost unable to let go. But they do.

Newt tucks some of Credence’s hair behind his ear, smiles faintly, and gets in his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna pop in and say, if you can find some way to watch it, Flowers is totally worth a watch! It's a great show about depression starring Julian Barratt from The Mighty Boosh and it makes me cry every time, but it was so important for me. And it's great, if not a bit awkward, like everything British.


	6. you can't get enough but enough ain't the test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt has left; the group try to think of a way to celebrate him, and Abernathy somehow ends up straddled with a situation he wasn't expecting.

The only thing that seems appropriate to Newt’s group of friends after he leaves is to go to Fred’s. The chairs and table have been rearranged since their last group outing, so they sit in the corner on a peculiarly long sofa. Even Fred decides it’s too inappropriate to take a jibe on Newt’s behalf, and ignores making any comments on anyone’s order, boring or not. Tina and Credence stay out of the realms of boredom with an Electric Cool Aid between them, and Jacob ventures for a concoction called ‘The Most Hipster Starbucks-Style Coffee You’ll Ever Drink’. Fred gives them all straws, white with red stripes. Abernathy stares at the chalkboard for a long time while Percy shamelessly flirts with Fred’s co-barista, a girl with a crimson buzzcut and Spock eyebrows wearing an oversized Iron Maiden T-shirt tucked into a pair of mom jeans. Queenie can’t help herself but think that she’s exactly Percy’s type (except Newt, who was a peculiar exception).

“Hey,” Fred says, leaning in to Abernathy, noticing the look on his face. “How about a Matchmaker hot chocolate, eh? Cheer you up.” Abernathy nods and sits down next to Tina, who pats him on the back sympathetically. Queenie takes Percy’s arm and drags him away from the student (“hey, wait, I didn’t get her number...” “you can get it later!”) to order. Percy orders a very very large coffee and asks Fred to put in as many stimulants as possible, and he raises an eyebrow at this request, but takes heed of it and cackles manically as he makes up Percy’s coffee, watching him join the crush of people on the sofa. “How about you, Queen?”

“I’ll have anything,” she says. “But put a little bit of something good in there, would you?”

“Sure.” He winks at her.

“And don’t give Percy anything alcoholic. You remember what happened the last time.”

“Oh, yes. It was indeed _exceedingly_ fun having a punk crying all over me. Are you sure you don’t want that to happen again?” Queenie gives him a playful glare and kisses him across the counter before going to sit down, trying not to think about the way he squeezed her a little closer than usual and trying not to think about the night Percy wouldn’t go home and just cried and cried and Queenie was exhausted and Fred stayed up to let her go to sleep, letting all of Percy’s sorrows flow through him, even though he dislikes being serious in that way. She tries not to think about these as she tucks herself next to Percy.

Fred looks over to his co-barista. “You should watch out for him. He’s a real hard-ass anarchist.”

She sniggers. “I’ll bet. Cute, though.”

“It’s the eyebrows, isn’t it?”

“It’s _always_ the eyebrows.”

“You see? I told Newt this, but he never believed me.”

Fred comes over with all their drinks after a while, and a bag of party hats, which he ceremoniously places on the heads of each of the mourning party. He hands Tina a party popper and gives Credence, Abernathy, and Jacob party horns. “Don’t swap them,” he says. “They’re for you.”

They don’t really know how to celebrate. Telling the story of Newt would be a waste, because he’s a man beyond stories, beyond words. So once they’ve finished their drinks, they decide to do something else. Percy takes the handle of a teaspoon and rings out a melody on Tina’s glass, and Credence drums with his hands on the wood of the coffee table. They all sing. They all know the words.

“ _You’ve got your mother in a whirl_  
She’s not sure if you’re a boy or a girl  
Hey babe, your hair’s alright  
Hey babe, let’s go out tonight  
You like me, and I like it all  
We like dancing and we look divine  
You love bands when they’re playing hard  
You want more and you want it fast  
They put you down, they say I’m wrong  
You tacky thing, you put them on

 _Rebel rebel, you’ve torn your dress_  
Rebel rebel, your face is a mess  
Rebel rebel, how could they know?  
Hot tramp, I love you so!”

They don’t notice the café has gone quiet until they end. They don’t end at the end of the song, because Newt doesn’t like to do so, believing the song to go on forever. It didn’t sound incredible: Credence is no drummer, and a spoon on a glass is no guitar, and they sang out of time. But it means something, and as they sit with their implements in their hand, Tina pulls the party popper straight in the air, raining them with streamers. Credence, Abernathy, and Jacob blow their party horns.

“To Newt,” says Queenie, raising her glass.

“To Newt,” the group echoes, clinking them together.

 

The first thing that hits Abernathy when he steps through the door and into his apartment is the smell of chocolate. Remus’s coat is on the stand and he peers through the doorframe of the kitchen. “Welcome back,” he says softly. “That him away, then?”

“Away,” Abernathy echoes, putting his coat away. “What’s cooking?”

“Chocolate cake,” Remus replies. “Thought you could do with some. I kept some batter for you, too.” Abernathy almost sprints to the kitchen, trying to hide his excitement as he spoons chocolate cake batter into his mouth: it’s his vice, really, and Remus knows this far too well. “He’ll be fine, you know.”

“I know. I’m just worried about everybody else.”

“They’ll look out for each other. You should look out for them, too.”

“I will. I just hope that they’re all going to be okay, without him. Credence – I don’t know what’ll happen to him, and Percy, he’s already not well...” Abernathy starts as the doorbell rings, and he lets whoever in; he’s expecting a delivery, anyway. What he’s not expecting is for a knock at the door to be Percy, looking very drunk; Abernathy can’t imagine how he got drunk so fast. He had been sober an hour earlier when they left the café.

He sniffs the air. “Is that chocolate cake?” He pauses, and looks down at Abernathy. “I think I need help.”

“Well, yes,” Abernathy says, startled. “Er – that’s what Tina and Queenie think, really, and I think they’re probably right...”

“No. No, I need to move in somewhere. I need someone to watch me. I need you to be my Newt.”

Abernathy stands there, utterly bewildered, and he looks over his shoulder to Remus, who is leaning against the wall. “Let him in,” he says. “He’s welcome here, if he needs our help. But couldn’t you stay with the sisters – Tina and Queenie?”

“No,” Percy replies, stepping past Abernathy, who shuts and bolts the door automatically. “They don’t have any room for me. Okay, seriously, is that chocolate cake? Because I fucking want some chocolate cake.”

“That is chocolate cake,” says Remus. “And once it’s out the oven, you can help yourself.”

“Oh, you’re a fucking blessing.” Percy slinks through to the living room and collapses down on the sofa. Remus looks at Abernathy and raises an eyebrow.

Abernathy suddenly very much wishes that Newt were here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GASPS IT'S A SET-UP FOR ANOTHER PART
> 
> It'll be a while before you ever see Abernathy trying to deal with Percy, since I haven't even written it yet, but Abernathy's part is coming hopefully soon!! Get hype! (I'm hype! I love him!)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and if you've been reading the series so far, THANK YOU SO FREAKING MUCH. This project is my baby, and I hope you're enjoying it!


End file.
